


Forget

by deviantjoy



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: And The Group Helps Him Out, Canon Compliant, Gen, Light Angst, POV Peeta Mellark, Peeta Joins The Group, Peeta Struggles With Memories, The Hunger Games: Mockingjay Part 2 Scene, i just added his thoughts, this is word for word the scene where he joins katniss's group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29036736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deviantjoy/pseuds/deviantjoy
Summary: Peeta joins the group but he can’t help being on edge.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen & Peeta Mellark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Forget

**Author's Note:**

> as the tags say, this is literally the exact scene in thgm2 where peeta shows up and joins boggs, jackson and katniss’s group. i wanted to know his thoughts during it and the night scene and the morning after so i wrote them lmao. experimented a lil with my writing style too. not entirely satisfied with the ending but i wanted to include it anyway

“My name is Peeta Mellark. My home is district 12.”

His head’s hung low but he can feel the presence of the soldiers behind him as he mumbles the phrase, their guns a silent threat looming over him if he doesn’t walk.

“My name is Peeta Mellark. My home is district 12.”

He feels eyes burning into him from in front and behind, eyes watching his every move, cautious, like he can’t be trusted. He knows he can’t be trusted. It doesn’t make the shame any easier to live with.

“My name is Peeta Mellark. My home is district 12.”

He hears a bow being drawn at him, _Katniss’s_ bow being drawn at him, and he has to fight the urge to attack her before she kills him. Focus.

“My name is Peeta Mellark—”

“Okay, stop.” Finnick’s voice breaks his concentration and he comes to a stop in front of him. “Hold up. Everyone relax.” He takes the moment to make sure he still remembers, make sure he doesn’t forget.

“My name is Peeta Mellark. My home is district 12.”

If he doesn’t repeat it, he’ll forget. He knows he will and he can’t. He can’t forget or else nobody will want him. Not the Capitol and not 13 and not Katniss. How could they want someone nobody knows, not even himself?

“What’re we doing?” Gale asks, and Peeta doesn’t look up to see who the question’s directed to. Not him. He knows that, at least.

“My name is Peeta Mellark. My home is district 12.”

The woman he recognizes as Jackson approaches him with handcuffs and holds them up to him. “Soldier, this is just a precaution till we can get everything straightened out,” she says. Sugarcoating. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says anyway. He couldn’t fight it if he wanted to. He’d be dead before he could even try.

He lets her slip the cuffs onto his wrists and instead returns his focus to his mantra before he can forget. “My name is Peeta Mellark. From District 12.”

Two soldiers escort him inside and sit on either side of him as he continues softly reciting what little of his identity he has left. The man he assumes is in charge—he thinks his name is Boggs—begins briefing the rest of the team.

“They want us to add him to the propo,” he says. “Show that he’s on our side now.” Of course. His role here is to make them look good. Just like the Capitol wanted him to do. “We’ll move forward a few blocks tomorrow and shoot the new footage.”

“He’s not in control of himself,” Gale says, and his distrust of him shows. Peeta wonders how much of it is because of Katniss.

“I say we schedule an around-the-clock watch on him,” Jackson says. “The Leegs till 1700, Homes and Mitchell till 1900.”

“Give me a watch.” Katniss’s request—no, _demand_ —is unexpected. Why does she want a watch? So she gets the chance to kill him?

“And if it really came down to it, you think you could shoot him?” Jackson asks, doubt evident in her voice.

“I wouldn’t be shooting Peeta,” she replies coldly. “Be killing a Capitol mutt.”

A Capitol mutt.

So that’s all he is to her now.

A mutt.

“I’m not sure that kind of a comment recommends you for the job either, soldier,” Jackson says, and Peeta’s almost grateful until Boggs speaks up.

“Put her in the rotation.” He steps behind Jackson and leaves.

Damn it.

“We’ve been here before, you know.” It’s night now, and he’s speaking to Katniss as he lies down. He can’t sleep no matter how hard he tries. He just keeps getting distracted by memories that pop up, memories he isn’t sure are real. It’s not a good idea to talk to her instead, he knows, but the least he can do is try. Try to test the waters, or... something. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it’s too late to undo it.

“What?” she asks.

“That look.” It’s hard to catch in the dark, but there’s something familiar about it. “I’ve seen that look.” He searches his mess of a brain briefly before realizing. It’s in one of the memories he’s been replaying over and over. He sits up, the movement reminding him of the handcuffs around his wrists and he hates the feeling. “You’re trying to decide whether or not you should kill me.”

“I never wanted to kill you.” She looks away. “And that’s not what I’m doing.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” he retaliates, though he isn’t even sure if that memory’s real. “In the first games.”

“In the first games, I thought you were trying to help the Careers kill me,” she says, slight annoyance in her voice as she looks back at him. So that memory is real at least. “After that, I always saw you... as an ally.”

Ally.

The word should feel good to him. It means he can be trusted even if he’s not stable enough right now.

But it doesn’t.

“Friend. Lover. Victor. Fiancée.” Then his tone turns sour, scornful. “Enemy. Target. Mutt. And now _ally_?” The words taste as bitter as they feel. “Yeah, I’ll add that to the list of words I use to try to figure you out.”

Movement from across the room catches his attention and he looks over to see Finnick sitting up. He must’ve been too loud. Too angry.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. He can’t keep getting angry. He can’t let himself lose control. “I... I just can’t tell what’s real and what’s made up anymore.”

“Then ask,” Finnick says. “It’s what Annie does.”

“Ask who?” Who can he trust? Who would care about him enough to listen and help?

“Us.” Jackson’s awake now too. “We’re your unit now.”

Ask them.

The idea’s almost laughable. They don’t trust him, why should he trust them? To them, he’s not a person. He’s an unstable animal—a mutt. Nothing more than a toy that Snow broke.

But who else can he ask?

They haven’t hurt him yet. Not like the Capitol did. There’s always the threat of being shot, but they’ve had every chance to hurt him or kill him and they haven’t. Even though he deserves it. There’s that, at least.

What does he have to lose?

He turns to look at Katniss. “Your favorite color is green.” That memory feels... strangely soft to him, like he can’t believe Katniss of all people could be that soft. “Is that real?”

“Yeah,” she says. “That’s real.” Then a slight pause. “Yours is orange.”

Orange.

“Not bright orange,” she continues, perhaps having seen the puzzlement on his face. “Soft, like the sunset.”

Soft, sunset orange. He can imagine something like that. It feels... right. “Thank you.”

But she continues. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You always sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. You always double-knot your shoelaces.” Forgotten memories flood back, so small he would’ve thought they were irrelevant if she hadn’t brought them up, and she stands up. “You were right. I can’t do this.” Then she leaves.

It’s his fault, he knows, but he can’t let himself dwell on it. He can’t let his anger come back, so he falls asleep to the image of a soft, warm sunset.

The next morning, Boggs comes by with a gun in hand, taking out the magazine. “Listen up.” He holds it up, showing it to everyone. “Mag’s empty.” Then his gaze lands on him, a silent warning to stay in line. “It’s only for the propo.” Boggs clicks the magazine back in place and hands it to Peeta. The move feels humiliating, but there’s no time to be upset. “Let’s move. We’re headed five blocks north.”

As he walks with them, he can’t tell if he’s sandwiched between them for his safety or their own. This should feel like he’s part of a team, like they’re surrounding him so they can protect him, but it doesn’t.

It feels like a way to trap him if he ever decides to run.


End file.
